Intermission
by jtav
Summary: The true story of the joint Christmas gift. Written for rs games.


"I shouldn't have come back."

Remus pauses from hanging a bit of tinsel. Without magic to hold it up, the red and green material hovers for a moment before falling uselessly to the ground. Remus ignores it, and turns to look at Sirius. He sits hunched over in an overstuffed chair, clutching a decanter of brandy and staring blankly at the unlit fireplace. Remus thins his lips. Sometimes he wishes the wizarding world would formally recognize whatever it is that he and Sirius have just so he can order Kreacher to keep his master away from the bottle. "At least you aren't scrounging for food and living in a cave." _And you're with me._

"I think I preferred the cave. At least I could leave every now and again. Better yet, I could go back to Argentina. All sorts of shady types there, and nobody gives a damn." He looks up at Remus, and for the first time in months, there's something like hope in his eyes. "There's an idea. We could run away to South America together. I could rent us a nice little villa outside Buenos Aires. Nobody would bother us. Ever."

Remus allows himself to consider it. Like their Muggle counterparts after World War II, the Argentine Ministry of Magic has a history of sheltering European wizards considered beyond the pale: mass murderers, torturers, werewolves. The anti-werewolf laws are not nearly so strict. He could have a decent job again. But no. "We have a job here. Somebody has to fight this war. The Ministry isn't."

"Always duty first, eh Moony?" He snorts. "You have a job. I'm just providing the headquarters." The cold, dead look returns to his eyes. "Not that it matters much anyway."

"Excuse me?"

"How much good is the Order doing this time around? We both know that it's up to Harry to defeat Voldemort. The prophecy..."

Remus winces at hearing the name spoken aloud, but crosses the room to stand in front of Sirius. "Dumbledore never told us what that prophecy contained. It could be anything."

Sirius waves him away. "Do you remember those Muggle fantasy novels that Peter was so enamored with in school?"

He nods. They all had names like _The Lost Spirit_/ior _Wizard of the Sun _and had been almost as thick as _Hogwarts: A History. _Peter had carried them everywhere. Remus had tried reading one once. He'd fallen asleep in the middle of a fifty page dissertation on the history of the ruling family that had no discernable connection to the plot.

"I read them so I could laugh at the things about magic that the authors got wrong. There were a lot of prophecies in those books. The details differed, but they all boiled down to the same thing: only the hero could defeat the dark lord or restore the king to his rightful throne. Anyone else who tried to do anything else of significance died horribly, usually just to give the hero that much more motivation to defeat the villain."

"Harry isn't some mythical hero, Sirius."

"You could have fooled me." Sirius counts on his fingers. "He's fought Voldemort, what, three times now? Four if you count that Halloween. That boy has a destiny." Remus sighs. He won't argue that point. No ordinary wizard could have cast the Patronus Charm at the age of thirteen. Sirius continues, "The envoy to the giants, even you spying on the other werewolves, is a sideshow compared to the real battle."

"No, it's not." He thinks back to the degradation, the humiliation he has endured at Greyback's hands, both in the first war and now. He won't let that be worthless.

"I hope not. I just don't want everything we've done to be meaningless." He tosses the decanter aside, and it shatters into a dozen pieces. "I hate being useless."

Remus mutters a hasty _Reparo_ and returns the now empty decanter to the mantle. Kreacher will have to deal with the stain. He's never been very good at cleaning charms. "You aren't useless."

Something wild enters his expression, and there is no mistaking that he is the son of the madwoman whose portrait screams at them. "Aren't I? I couldn't protect Lily and James. The rat who killed them is still alive. I lost my youth and maybe a bit of my sanity to Azkaban. Harry has to spend the summer at the_Dursleys_, and don't think I don't know how awful they are. I can't be a proper godfather to him or help him face the fight of his life because I'm stuck here!" The manic gleam fades from his eyes, and he suddenly looks old. "We're the last ones left. I've outlived my time, Remus."

So that's what's bothering him. He knows that Sirius has been depressed these last few months, but this is even worse than that, and Remus just isn't sure what to do about it. Life isn't one of Peter's sword-and-sorcery novels, but it isn't one of Lily's romances, either. He can't soothe Sirius by tossing him down on the rug and shagging him until he can't think anymore. He wishes to God it were that simple. But Sirius is right, in a way. They are the only Gryffindors in their year still alive (Peter died when he betrayed Lily and James. Nothing will ever convince Remus otherwise). Most of the old Order is dead. All they can do is soldier on as best they can.

Remus takes one of Sirius' hands in his. His hands are the one good feature Azkaban has not marred beyond recognition. They are still large and white and long-fingered and beautiful. "We'll be there for Harry when he needs us. I promise you."

They stay that way for a long time. Eventually, though, Remus's knees begin to ache and he must get up and head toward his own room. They keep separate rooms, the better to avoid scandalizing the others. In their younger years, Sirius had wanted to shout their love from the rooftops, while Remus had insisted on discretion. When he was nine years old, his friends turned their backs on him for something he had no control over. He's not keen on it happening again.

Halfway there, Remus notices a dark shape lurking in a corner. Kreacher stands in the shadows, glaring at him. He knows the elf disapproves of his and Sirius' relationship, though he suspects that it is less because of their homosexuality _per se_ than because the despised son of his beloved mistress is enjoying some scrap of happiness. "Filthy degenerates," he mutters, "reveling in your corruption."

Remus ignores him. "You really should keep the alcohol away from Sirius. He'll drink himself to death sooner or later."

"Kreacher can hardly help what Master orders him to do." He smiles slyly. "Perhaps Kreacher will soon have a good person to serve again, like Mistress Bella. Kreacher would be honored to serve a true pureblood again, instead of a blood traitor."

For a brief moment, Remus again fantasizes about being married to Sirius. Instead of ordering him to ensure that Sirius is sober, he'd order the elf to throw himself into the fire. He shakes his head and goes into the bedroom before he decides to use Kreacher as target practice.

Sirius does not come to him that night, and Remus is half glad of it. He is still occupied with their earlier conversation. Sirius' depression is worsening, and Remus fears the consequences if he doesn't find something to occupy himself. Perhaps he will speak to Dumbledore again about the possibility of Sirius doing some low-level scouting using his Animagus form.

It isn't quite enough. What Sirius really wants to do is help Harry. Remus sympathizes. The boy needs all the help he can get. He's heard rumors about what's going on at Hogwarts. He shudders to think of Dolores Umbridge teaching children. Granted, it isn't the first time the Defense professor has been a sadist, but at least Crouch was a competent one. Umbridge probably makes them copy dictionary definitions out of some useless text without a single spell in it.

That gives him an idea. He gets up and walks across the corridor to Sirius' door. "Are you asleep yet, Padfoot?"

Sirius opens the door a moment later. He's still wearing the same robes, though they're rumpled and mussed in a way that would shock and horrify Molly. "I don't think I'm up to anything tonight," he says irritably. "Maybe tomorrow."

"I'm not here about that. Can I borrow some money? Say, five Galleons?"

Sirius stares at him like he's just asked for the Philosopher's Stone. "You're asking for money at this hour? What's going on?"

"You want to help Harry, correct?" Sirius nods, and Remus continues, "Well, I can't afford to buy him a proper Christmas gift, and you can't go out and shop for one. Suppose we get him a gift from the two of us. You'll pay for it, and I'll purchase it. We could get him something truly useful, like a book on how to defend himself against Dark magic.

Sirius grins broadly. "I always knew you were the smart one." He fixes Remus with a mock serious gaze. "But it has to be a practical book, top-notch quality. Only the best for my godson."

Remus smiles slightly. "I think I can manage that."

* * *

Remus watches Harry unwrap his present. He carefully searches for an opening and starts to pry the wrapping paper apart. "You're allowed to rip, you know," Sirius says fondly. "I'm not Petunia."

Harry looks up at him before ripping into the paper with abandon. He takes the book and examines it. "Thanks, to both of you. It's just what I need right now."

Sirius claps Harry on the shoulder and stares at him with such parental affection that it makes Remus long briefly, stupidly for a son of his own. "You're welcome." The shadows are gone from his face, if only for now. Things are not perfect. Sirius is still forced to hide in his own home. Arthur is in St. Mungo's. The Ministry still has its head in the sand. But things are not as bad as they might be. Arthur will eventually recover and go home to his family. Harry is not alone. They are still fighting.

Sirius and Harry hug, and Remus feels a lump form in his throat. Perhaps Arthur's not the only one in the process of healing.


End file.
